The Walls Have Ears
by GingerRoseLee
Summary: When a lead on a case turns sour out-of-state, Reese, Carter, and Fusco make camp at a hotel in order to avoid a storm headed for New York. Fusco reluctantly agrees to be Reese's roommate-but finds that, ultimately, Reese has other ideas. As Fusco realizes why, he discovers a facet of Reese's character he hadn't quite considered before. High T for adult situations and language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/U: Hi, guys! I'm still working on "Tension," but this one I came up with during some down time in the middle of a work day. It's a shortie, just two chaps in all, but hopefully you will enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed writing it! Just posting the first one here now (time is also short).**

**As much as I was dismayed by the killing off of Joss Carter, it looked like it would have been either her or Fusco, and I wouldn't have wanted that either. I adore the Fusco character, and in many ways, he is the perfect complement, foil, even, for John and Joss. Fusco knows what's up, more so than they give him credit for—but he's not the one to say anything, not the guy to ask questions. Something to be said for that. And well, the nicknames he has for John and Harold are second to none, hahaha!**

**Well, anyway, have fun with this if you can. Again, It's in two chapters in the end, and, as the summary says, could take place anytime between Season One and beginning Season Three (i.e. Season 2). Cheers, guys, and please give a holler if you feel the urge!**

****Disclaimer: I don't own any characters or anything thing else from **_**Person of Interest**_**. All for fun and giggles. **

On the Road

_Great. Just great, _he thought to himself. He was stuck out here, in the middle of somewhere out in the middle of nowhere in southern Jersey with Mr. Happy. This was not how this lead was supposed to go. All the way down for a bust all of nothing. And what made matters worse was that the flash flood and thunderstorm forecast for today really was happening, just like the weather guys said it would. Well, smack them on the head for getting it right for a change. They day they decide to do their jobs is the day he had to spend five minutes longer than necessary with Wonderboy. At least Carter was there act as a buffer between them, and to keep Tall, Dark, and Deranged from pissing him off whole day.

The three of them were following up on a lead to a murder investigation in Delaware that may have had ties stretching back to New York and the Russian mob. They had been thorns in each other's sides for a while-cops and vigilante against drug villain-and the trio were itching to get something that would help build a federal case against Peter Yogorov and his gang that would stick for real. If they could tie this lead, which promised to be big, to him, he'd go down like a ton of bricks.

But that was the thing about promises: they were made to be broken. Or, in this case, never to be believed in the first place. Dead ends all over the place; the witness got spooked before they could meet, someone having threatened him beforehand. And now that it was known that the NYPD was sniffing around, other witnesses (and there were others) were more tightlipped than usual. Wonderboy was well above shaking down innocent people for information—but sometimes Lionel wished he wasn't. Somebody had to talk. Somebody had to help them get this scumbag off the streets. They'd talk to Wonderboy for sure, he'd bet.

If only Wonderboy talked to him in some way that wasn't a bark of an order or a smarmy put down. He was no ex-CIA badass, and he'd made some mistakes with HR, but he was a good cop. Wonderboy never said as much, though. Oh no, not him. That'd be too much for him.

Carter, on the other hand, never got any of that. _She_ was his favorite. Had been from the beginning. And s_he_ had gotten him shot, nearly killed. He had never done anything like that. And yet, all Fusco ever heard out him in first months of working with Wonderboy was how he'd better not let anything happen to her, or he'd ring his ass out to dry, permanently. She told him where he needed to get off too, though that didn't happen as often as it should have, in his humble opinion. The guy was a real piece of work, and a part of him still sometimes wished someone would ring _his_ ass out to dry.

But the other part knew John to be one of the finest human beings he'd ever known, a man who cared more about other people than he did himself, including him. He had a really crappy way of showing it, of course, but it was true. And he looked damned good in a suit. He really _was_ Wonderboy, and sometimes, Lionel had to admit, his teasing could sting a little. Hell, if he didn't look up to him so much, it would have rolled off his back more.

They were in Carter's Impala, with her in the driver's seat, John in the passenger seat, and Fusco in the back seat behind him. And he was fuming.

"Hey, Daddy Long Legs, you wanna move your seat up a little bit? You're crushin' the crap outta me here!"

"I need the room, Lionel. Why didn't you just sit on Carter's side? She's not as tall as either of us without heels."

"Oh, thanks, John. Remind everyone how tiny I am, why don't you? Carter sneered.

"Yeah, Wonderboy, you could be a little more sensitive. People get complexes about their height. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

John sighed and looked at the ceiling as if he was just so over the conversation. "Fine, Lionel. I will move the seat a little." He bent down to adjust the seat, and now sat with his knees slightly more bent than before. Turning his head, and, in the mocking tone of a mother, he quipped, "there, there, little man. All better now?"

Lionel became enraged. "You know, you're a creep, John! All I ask for is a little common courtesy, a little decorum, and you gotta be a wise guy! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Reese smirked and absently looked out the window. "Right now, the fact that I can't help but hear you bellyaching back there."

At that point, Lionel looked frantically around the car for any small object he found he could find. Seizing on a tennis ball that might have belonged to Taylor, he lifted his arm and aimed it at John's head.

The man must have had eyes in the back of that head because nobody's reflexes are that good. Before the ball really travelled that far, John had it in his hand. He turned around to look at Lionel before engaging in more irresistible teasing. "That's okay, Lionel. If I want to play fetch, I've already got Bear for that. He's much better company, and he knows how to bring it back the way I tell him to. By the way, the next time you want to throw something at me, make sure there's no rearview mirror in the car first."

Carter had had enough at this point. "Guys, will you please stop? I am not driving this car in a storm with you two fussing at each other! Now, cut it out, the both of you!"

John and Lionel piped down and decided to behave themselves. The ride was peaceful—until about ten miles from where they'd last stopped. At that point, it looked as if Armageddon was upon them. The sky had opened up, and a chameleon's stew of colors had roamed across it. There was blue-grey, thunder-grey, blue-orange, where the sun fought valiantly to stay alive, and finally thunder-grey again when it lost the battle. Then the hail storm started.

"Shit!" Carter exclaimed. "We can't keep going in this, boys. This hail is just the beginning."

"Well, what do you suggest we do, Carter?" Lionel asked without a hint of snarkiness in his voice. "We can't stay out here in the car, either, what with the flooding they're forecasting. We'd need sailboats after a while."

John sniffed as he watched the hail stones pelt Joss' windshield. "There was a mid-sized hotel that we passed about ten minutes ago, attached diner, gas station. It didn't look completely full. We could hunker down there for there for the night, get a fresh start in the morning," he said.

It sounded like a plan, and the more Lionel thought about the rain rolling them all down the river, the more he liked it. "I'm game," he said. "Carter? How about you?"

Joss sighed. "It's looking like that's our only option. This storm is supposed to last for hours, and I don't even want to think about what Jersey Turnpike traffic looks like right now."

She turned the car around carefully, her visibility near zero. It took them close to half an hour to retrace that ten minute trip, but they made it.

John went to make the reservations, while Carter got out her emergency change of clothing and toiletry kit out of the trunk, hail stones beating both of them mercilessly. Lionel, too, got out, to stretch his legs and to check out the joint. He ducked into the lobby just as John confirmed the reservation and paid with Finch's credit card.

"…single_ suite_ for the lady and standard double for the two gentlemen. Very good, sir. Do you have any luggage?" the clerk asked.

"No, we don't," John said. But is there a convenience store or a five and ten near here? I would like to get a few grooming supplies, and a couple of clothing items, if I could."

"Yes, sir, there is actually one attached to the hotel, next to the in-house diner. There you can find those things. Open 24/7."

John thanked the clerk and waited for Joss to come in. Lionel stood off to the side, having heard the sleeping arrangements_. A suite for Carter? A double for the gents? What the hell?_

"Hey, Captain America, who said anything about me sharing a room with you?" Lionel asked as he ambled over to John when his business at the desk was done. "And why does Carter get a _suite_?"

"You heard what the man said, Lionel. She's a lady." John walked past him, with nary a glance, towards the electronic doors, back to the car.

"Oh well, of course, she is," said Lionel, sheepishly. "But a suite? Glasses gonna be okay with you splurgin' like that?"

"It's okay, Lionel. But I'll be sure to tell Finch all about your concern for his financial well-being. I know he'd be touched."

Joss leaped through the sliding door, her hair and clothes damp, holding an overnight bag and cosmetics case. Lionel grinned at her. "Looks like somebody came prepared. Nice goin', partner."

"Yep. I know better than to come unprepared. Well, to some extent anyway. We must have been nuts to think we'd beat this storm."

"Well, we all have room for the night. Mr. Perfect here got you a _suite_, while we're bunking together."

"Least I could do for our chauffer. Besides, I wouldn't subject anyone else to your snoring, Lionel." John winked at him. Lionel answered with an eye rolling grimace.

"John, are you crazy? I can't pay for that! No, no, that's too much. I'll see if I can get something cheaper," Joss protested.

"Don't worry about it, Joss. Finch is taking care of it. Anyway, this place is a lot more booked than it looked from the parking lot. Seems like a lot of other people had the same idea."

Joss sighed. It really was too much, she said, but if John said there was little other room, then what other choice did she have? And the thought of a swanky room was nice. Lionel didn't really begrudge her the _suite_. Actually, she deserved it. Nobody busted their ass in this job more than Carter. She could do with a little break from all the crap.

"I was able to book us all on the same floor, right next to each other. So, Joss, your _suite_ is at the very end of the hall, and we're to the right of you. Here are your key cards," John said, handing over two white and green cards with the hotel logo. They were on the eighth floor.

"I'm starving, and it's getting late. Is there a meal we can get somewhere here?"

"Diner's down the hall there," John said, pointing behind her. "let's go."

##

Dinner eaten, the case discussed, the trio retired to their respective lodgings for the night. They had yet to see the rooms John booked, so all were pleasantly surprised at the comfy atmospheres. Joss squealed in delight at her _suite_, and only wished she had more time to enjoy it, especially the sunken tub with the whirlpool jets. A bath would definitely be in order for tonight.

Lionel came to where his bed was to be and sat down, grateful to be dry and fed after the wild goose chase that got them down there. But something niggled at him. At dinner, Wonderboy was acting—he wasn't sure—_different_ around Carter, maybe. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but he did sense _something_ weird. It was the way he looked at her as she talked about the case with them. And when he sat next to her in the booth, Lionel couldn't help but see the small but sure smile he gave her, chompers flashin' and all. He even poured water for her without her asking him to.

Totally not like him, Lionel thought. And he only had one beer, so he wasn't drunk. He knew what he saw. Well, maybe he wouldn't read too much into it. After all, Carter was a beautiful lady, and it'd be unusual for him or any other red-blooded man not to notice her. But then again, Captain America wasn't exactly the romantic type.

_Ah, Fusco, you're losin' it, brother. Wonderboy ain't got designs on Carter. That's crazy. Maybe he had gas or something, and it just made him a little goofy. Lord knows it was an improvement._

_Just get through this night, and everything will be back to normal tomorrow, whatever that is, _he told himself.

Besides, even if this room wasn't a fancy suite, it was still pretty nice. Beds had fresh, warm bedding, bathroom had a marble sink with brass taps. Enough towels for the both of them, and the flat screen boasted a gazillion channels. Yeah, they'd be good for the duration.

John went into the bathroom to relieve himself, closing the door behind him, while Lionel flipped on the TV. After putting his gun and badge on the table, he plopped down on the full-sized bed and began flipping channels until he found one having a marathon devoted to _Laurel and Hardy. _John came out of the bathroom to the sound of Lionel's laughter.

"Something funny, Lionel?"

"Yeah, _Laurel and Hardy_. I used to crack up at this stuff when I was a kid!" He laughed again at yet another fine mess the zany duo had gotten themselves into.

"Hmm. Buster Keaton's more my thing," he murmured.

"Oh, yeah! Hey, he the one with the movie on the railroad?"

"Yeah, Lionel, that's the one."

"Oh, yeah, that's good, too. You a fan of Chaplin at all? 'Little Tramp' stuff, that's great."

John nodded his head in the so-so fashion. "Yeah, sure. Just took to Keaton more, I guess."

There was an awkward pause. John looked at Lionel, waiting for a reply, which Lionel was suddenly unable to give. This was probably the closest thing to a civil conversation they'd ever had. Frankly, he was at a loss for words.

John wasn't the man to wait around for awkward silences, so, after a beat, he soon turned on his heel and grabbed his suit coat for the door.

"Hey, where ya goin'"

"As much as I would love to continue this conversation on silent film stars, Lionel, we need to get some provisions for our stay here. I was thinking shaving kits, underwear, hair brushes, tee shirts. That sort of thing." "Here," he said, handing him a pad and pen from the desk. "Write down your sizes. I'll pick you up something."

Lionel did so and handed the pad back to him. "Gee, thanks. You know, I didn't even think about that stuff, what with everything goin' on, you know."

"That's why they don't pay you the big bucks, Lionel. You're welcome," John said, upon closing the door.

"Yeah, you're a real barrel of laughs, Wonderboy." Turning back to the TV, he undressed down to his undershirt and boxers, pulled the covers back on his bed, and settled in. "More boob tube for me, then," he said. And he giggled on to _Laurel and Hardy_ until he finally fell asleep a few hours later.

**A/N: Chapter Two will come soon. Lionel will need to wake up and go to the bathroom. 'Nuff said, hahaha! Thanks for reading, guys, and as always, stay tuned! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: And here comes the second and final chapter. I really hope you guys have a bit of fun with this. And we've all been there, haven't we? Ahem. Ahem!**

****Pardon any typos and all that. **

**** Disclaimer: None of these fun and sexy people belong to me. We all know if!**

It was a little after 2am when Nature called Lionel out of a deep sleep. The horrible weather had slowed some, reduced to a pretty standard rainfall. The TV was blaring on the channel he'd left it on, although the _Laurel and Hardy_ marathon had long since gone off. Turning on the bedside lamp, Lionel went to relieve himself in due haste.

It wasn't until he came out of the bathroom that he realized his roommate was not in bed across from him. In fact, the bed hadn't been slept in at all, the linens and comforter still folded and tucked as pristinely as they had been upon their arrival. Lionel's hackles got raised. What the hell? Where was he? Could the bogus lead on their cases have changed his mind, and decided to talk after all? Maybe something had gone down, and John and Carter had forgotten to clue him in on it. Well, he was only a cop, working this investigation too. What would_ he_ need to be clued in on?

Hastily getting his pants and suit clothes back on, Lionel got his gun and badge off the desk and exited the room, his phone out. Maybe it was nothing, and Wonderboy was just out shooting at glass bottles for target practice somewhere. Well, he'd find out.

When he turned into the hallway toward Carter's suite, he breathed a sigh of relief. Prepared to find her not there, he clutched his phone irritably in his hand, ready to make the blast call and let her have it for leaving him behind. Instead, the sounds of a rock music video-much clearer now-that he'd heard upon waking let him know she was there. Probably couldn't sleep in a strange place easily, he grinned inwardly, whereas he could drop like a stone on a bed of rocks. Or maybe she was asleep and left the TV on like he had.

Okay, so Carter was around, but that still didn't tell him where Mr. Perfect was. He should be glad the creep was out of his hair for a little bit, but that worried him, to be honest. He could be a loose cannon if left to his own devices. It was good to have an idea of his whereabouts. He decided to call him, but when he did, it went straight to voicemail.

Well, nothing for it but to head back to their room and try to get some sleep, and see John in the morning, hopefully with some fresh duds. He turned around to schlep back to his room, grateful for the chance to rest a bit longer, even if he did fully expect to be in on the action.

It was at that point that he'd almost missed it; almost didn't hear it over the din of the rock music guitar and drums. But a second sense in the back of his brain told him that he had heard it. It was faint, almost a whisper in light of the blaring music, but it reached out to greet him, make itself known.

His rational mind couldn't fully believe the tiny seed of suspicion planted there, though, so he decided, like any good cop to back up his instincts with evidence.

He felt like a heel, a real snake in the hallway, but damnit, he couldn't move. His feet were rooted to the spot; his ears lurched towards the door as he slowly, silently lifted his head to look at it, the number 809 looming large in his face. For some strange reason, he just had to.

For a moment, all he heard was the music again, and a slight toggle of the bed springs. His eyes fixed themselves on the carpet in front of him, then his shoes, and then the door again, as the brass numbers 8-0-9 continued to loom out towards him. He waited a second or two longer, beads of sweat forming on his forehead; he had willed himself not to breathe, so lost in concentration he was. But nothing more save for another toggle and the muffled din of the music on the television could he hear.

_Ah, Lionel, go back to your room and stop being a Nosy Tom! _ he silently chastised himself. _You must be crazy to think—_

The bed toggled again. And this time the sound beneath the music was plain, clear, and unmistakable. And it floored Lionel where he stood.

_Ohhhh…ohhhh…..John….ohhhh…baby….shit…aw YEAH….._

His head snapped up as if he'd been struck with a whip. _Jesus Christ! Carter and Wonderboy? Carter and Wonderboy were—were—Jesus Christ! What the hell! What the hell!_

Somehow, through the fog of his utter disbelief, he got the message that he should make tracks back to his own room now as quickly as possible. He did so, quietly closing the door behind him and rushed over to sit on the edge of his bed, rubbing the linens for something, anything, to do with his hands. Finally, he let out the breath he'd been holding. He was absolutely stunned. Never in his most whacked out dreams would he have ever thought that Carter and Captain America would be gettin' it on, and with him close enough to hear them going at it, no less!

But then, didn't he see it? At the diner last night, he'd noticed John's attention. He was somehow…softer, more willing to flash those chompers, instead of pulling Stony Face like he usually did. And not only there. Now that he thought about it, there had been other instances of John's interest in Carter he'd been privy to, instances that he'd brushed off as nothing much at the time. Well, Lionel always thought she was special to him in some way. Now, he supposed, he knew why.

He wondered how long it had been going on. Carter was much better at keeping mum on her involvement with Wonderboy. She never betrayed any feelings for him, beyond friendship. But he knew what he'd just heard.

Well, whatever they were doing specifically in there, it was obviously good. Carter didn't strike him as the type to fake it for a man's benefit. And, knowing Captain America, there'd be no need for pretendy passion. Shit, what _wasn't _this guy good at?

Suddenly, Lionel didn't quite know what to do with himself, in light of his new discovery. He decided to just go back to bed and try to get some sleep. What else was there to do? Carter and Wonderboy were both adults, entitled to enjoy one another's company if they liked. It was none of his business. And hell, if Mr. Serious was getting laid on a regular basis, he might just mellow out some. That could only be a win-win for everyone.

He got up to prep for turning in, but when he did so, he was faced with the floral patterned wall where the headboard rested. The music was still blaring, and now he could hear both Carter _and_ John through the paper thin walls. The bed squeaked, then stopped, then squeaked again rhythmically, until that sound was replaced with a steady knocking against the wall, and a low scream from Carter. As the knocking continued, John could be heard making short groans, punctuated by short, breathless gasps, peppered with utterances of the word _fuck_. From there, after a few minutes, a slowing of movement, and talking could be heard, but over the loud music, it was hard to make out what was being said. He did, however, make out the sound of Wonderboy grinning. Lionel surmised that a change of positions must be occurring.

Jesus, he was speculating on _how_ they were doing it? _Yeah, Fusco, that's real classy. I guess you're gonna know when the money shot happens too, huh? That's sick shit, even for you. _

But he couldn't help it. He was fascinated, fascinated at the idea that his partners and good friends were showing sides of themselves to each other, at least, that he'd never seen before, especially John. Yeah, he was good-looking, smooth, looked great in his clothes; carried the air of an intense bad boy effortlessly. Women took to that shit like catnip. But he was guarded, careful about his feelings. He didn't run around with a bunch of different chicks all the time. That wasn't his style. So, to hear Superman let that guard down and come to earth for a little bit was something special, for sure.

Looks like this trip to Palookaville wasn't a waste after all.

More muffled sounds made him nuts, and he found himself tiptoeing on a carpeted floor to affix his ear to the papered wall. He was ashamed of himself, honestly—but his curiosity was bigger than his shame. He was going straight to hell for sure, and he didn't give a flying damn.

He had a much better vantage point now, the ability to hear everything more keenly, even with the music going. For instance, he made out the sound of what could only be John giving Joss a few good whacks on her ass, and her answering him back in a particularly lusty way. Having checked out Carter's ample ass for himself on occasion, he fully understood the urge—and agreed.

"Damn, Wonderboy, you're good!" he snickered to himself, ear still glued firmly to the wallpaper. But then, it was John's turn to respond.

_Joss…..mmm….mmm…..fuuuuuuck…..mmm…like that….oh yeah…like that. So….good…..yesss….oohhh, fuuuuuck…..oh….._

_Mmmm, you like that, baby?_

_God, yes…aaaah…aaah…I love it….Joss…sexy woman….you're so fucking sexy….aah….yeah….oh, that's it, girl…ohhh…_

Jesus! Her mouth on him must have felt amazing. She had those full lips, just made for blowin' a guy good enough to put hair on his chest, and if Wonderboy was gettin' _that_, by the sounds of it, then fuckin' hell he really was a lucky bastard!

After a bit more of her sweet torture, he could hear John stop her; he must have been getting close and he didn't want to yet. The bed squeaked again, as position changed once more. And he could now make out the short sounds of smacking lips and heavy breathing. They were kissing as they moved around, probably loaded with tongue. Lionel could feel more beads of sweat gather at his forehead, and by the warmth in his cheeks, he knew he was blushing. But still, he didn't move.

He could hear Joss grin again softly, as the bed springs continued to squeak. The squeak and grin were both soon replaced with a long, deep moan and rush of breath. Then, John could be heard quietly joining in with her. Soon, Lionel could hear the slap of flesh again, but this time it wasn't like a spanking. It was steady, rhythmic—and Joss' moans got louder, wilder.

_She must be ridin' his pony_, he thought. Wonderful! That had always been his favorite position. The guy gets to lie there and enjoy, without having to do the work. Maybe thrust his hips if the woman got hot from it. More good luck for Wonderboy!

_Oooohhh, John…..yessss…yesssss…..fuck me…fuck me good…..oh, my spot…keep hittin' that, John…..ooooohhhh, babyyyyyyy….yeah….fuck me so good, John….please….._

Soon, John breathlessly answered her.

_Cum for me….cum for me…..damn…..you're so tight…..mmmm…I can feel you getting closer, Joss…give it to me….give it to me, honey….._

Lionel wanted her to give it to him too, in spirit, at least. Because, in addition to his flushed face and rapid heartbeat, he now sported a rather robust erection. You couldn't hear that kind of hotness for long without being turned on by it, even if it was creepy to be actively listening.

The pace grew more furious, the slapping sounds, bed knocking, and moans all grew louder. Interspersed between all that was the sound of kisses and panting. Suddenly, the bed rumbled loudly and Joss screamed. John grunted and growled, before he and Joss joined their love sounds in unison. Lionel knew they were geared up for a mutual orgasm. The bed springs groaned loudly, like the sound of a set of gears revving up. John had probably flipped her on her back, and was going in deep for his final thrusts, he figured. Truly out of control. When they came, they both shouted loud enough that, had he been asleep, they would have woken him up. He slowly closed his eyes in relief, pleased for the both of them.

They came down from their high slowly, panting, gasping, exclaiming words of love and passion for one another. They kissed repeatedly, until their heat subsided, and all Lionel could hear was soft, mutual laughter. He wanted to laugh with them, give them his seal of approval. It sounded crazy, but in that moment, they were both sexy, both beautiful. And they belonged together, just as they were.

_That was…that was…oh, my…_

_That was __**unexpected.**__ But wonderful. __**You**__ are wonderful, Joss._

_Still a little wine left. Might as well make use of it._

_Oh, of course, Joss. We should toast to our amazing encounter in this beautiful suite, absolutely! I don't do this kind of thing every day, you know._

_You sure you didn't plan this?_

_I swear I didn't. But when the idea of getting you this room crossed my mind, well…_

_Well, you're a sneaky bastard, John Reese. But, thank you. For everything. You're amazing._

_You're welcome, Detective. Thank __**you**__. And I hope this isn't our last time at this, fancy room or not._

_We'll see, Mr. Reese. We'll see._

The after convo soon stopped after yet another kiss. So this occasion had been their first time. _Wow_, he thought. _I was in on the ground floor for this. I wonder how far each of them is willing to go with this, too. Might be good for them both. They got the bedroom hijinks down, in any case!_ The bed squeaked again, and soon, Lionel could hear the toilet flush and the sink run. They were done, sated. The two of them would have their wine and soon fall asleep in each other's arms. _As it should be_, he thought, with a smile. _As it should be_.

##

As dawn began to break, Lionel could hear, from his bed, a key card slide into the door, and the jam being turned. He pretended to be asleep, snore effects and all, even though he'd been awake for about an hour at that point. The foot falls were quiet, but Lionel could make out the rustle of plastic bags, and then, the shuffling of clothing. Soon, the bathroom light clicked on, and the spray of shower started up. The door closed behind him.

Lionel turned away from the window, and lie flat on his back. He stared at the ceiling as the shower continued to run. So how was this going to go now? Should he just pretend he hadn't heard anything? How would he do that, when he had heard everything? He had heard so much that it turned him on. And he had to jack in the toilet. Hell, he hadn't done that since before he got married. But he did this time. And now, everything was just weird.

Soon, the shower spray was shut off. After about fifteen minutes, John emerged from the bathroom, mostly dressed, the only thing missing being his socks. He went to the plastic bag to get those.

"Your stuff is here on the desk, Lionel. I think the things I got you will fit," he said, without looking at him.

_How the hell did he know I was awake? Well, no need to pretend otherwise. He'd just keep talking, with that damn smirk on his face._

"Oh, good morning. Hey, thanks. I'm sure they'll be fine. Did you, uh, sleep well?"

John turned to look at him over his shoulder, a wry smile playing on his face. His hair was wet from the shower, but no gel slicked it back for him. "Yeah. Yeah, I did, actually. Like a happy baby."

_I'll bet you did, Wonderboy. I'll bet you did!_

"Oh, that's great, great. Well, if you're, uh…done in the bathroom, I'll get going."

"Good Lionel. Check out's not until 11:30, but that will give us time to get breakfast, refill Carter's car, and beat a little of the traffic back."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Well, uh…yeah, I'll go get cleaned up."

As he went towards the bathroom, John stopped him. "Hey, Lionel?"

"Yeah, John?"

"You called me last night. Was there something you wanted?"

_Shit, I'd forgotten about that. Think fast, Fusco!_

"Um, yeah, I uh, I just was gonna call for some snacks from the store when you were…uh..when you were there, but you didn't answer, so…I just said forget it. No big."

"Oh. Okay. Well, sorry I didn't answer. I was busy…shopping." He said that last one with a tilt of his head and his trademark smirk, and his eyes, steady, filled with mirth, bore holes into Lionel's face. Lionel didn't like that look. Didn't like it at all.

"Ahh, no worries." Lionel tried to stay unaffected, appear nonchalant. But he felt exposed instead. Did he know that he knew about this morning? "I can get snacks any time. Need to go on a damn diet anyway. Yeah, a…diet…." He could feel himself starting to sweat again.

John put his dirty things and toiletries in one of the plastic bags and turned toward the door. "My phone is on now. Give me a call when you're done and we'll meet downstairs."

"Where are you going now?"

"Gonna go and check in on Joss. See if she's awake, getting ready. You know, Lionel…how women can be…in getting ready."

Lionel swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea. So, uh, I'll call you when I'm done. Give my regards to Carter."

"Will do, Lionel. Oh, Lionel?"

"Yeah, John?"

"One more thing: I think you should sit behind Joss on the way back. Got a wicked leg cramp just now, didn't sleep a whole lot, you know, not sure how long it'll last. I'll need the room. Well, see you, Lionel. Enjoy your shower. Mine was wonderful. Refreshing."

John left the room. Lionel sank into the door and let go of the breath he'd been holding. If he'd kept on staring at him like that, a second longer, and Lionel would have spilled everything like a ripped guts bag. Hell, he would have confessed to having sunk _The Titanic_ with Wonderboy's crazy eye on him. Thank heaven for short exits.

He glanced at the bathroom, a small pile of towels already on the floor, one heavily smeared with lipstick. Boy, this was gonna be a strange ride back to New York. But he still couldn't help but smile all the same.

-The End

**A/N: And there you have it! Fusco will never look at his two pals the same way again, nor hear their voices the same, either, I reckon! I do hope you all had fun reading, and please give a holler if you feel. Cheers, guys!**

**** Hey, how about it, kids! Joss and John will be together again on the show soon! I know, I know, flashbacks are lame in this sense, but it's better than not ever having them bounce off each other again (and Cookie Lyon needs to continue, haha). Just weird to me that they bring back memories of Joss for John, after all this time, when he's so **_**supposedly**_** into Iris now. Are they trying to start a war, haha? **


End file.
